


Red Tie Society

by 8bitalpha



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dystopia, Explicit Sexual Content, Multi, Murder Mystery, Post-Apocalypse, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-15 14:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4611030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8bitalpha/pseuds/8bitalpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the years after war ripped the world to shreds, what small amount of order and peace that remained was placed in the hands of the Red Tie Society--a small group of misfit special agents that didn't fit anywhere else. When their short time of peace is shattered by a plague of killing sprees in their territory, the Society desperately tries to scrounge up any sources they can find to bring these "damn monsters" to justice, and find a way to keep their community from falling apart in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Thief, a Prodigy, a Child Soldier, and an Ex-Cop Walk into a Bar

She’d been at the bar so much longer than she would’ve liked. In between the disgusting older men offering to buy her drinks and the young women obviously paid to be draped over their arms, the building was suffocating. She hated most intel missions to begin with, but this? _I’ll have to talk to the superiors after this shitstorm settles._

She pushed a strand of blue fringe out of her eyes. By now, she’d mostly drank away the memory of what she came for. The booze burned her throat every time she took a shot, but her need to keep up the ruse that she was just another bar hog outweighed her opposition to drinking. _I’ll give this flaky motherfucker fifteen minutes before I’m calling for extraction and getting the hell out of Dodge. This place is freaking me out._ Another warm body slid into the seat beside her, tugging her from her thoughts.

“This seat taken?” The smell of alcohol on the man’s breath made her want to gag, but she wasn’t in a position to judge. Instead, she simply shook her head while still praying that he would either be dragged away by the dudebros he came in with, or that he would drink himself to death.

Honestly she didn’t count on either option.

She’d done a pretty damn good job at staying inconspicuous since her night started; staying near crowds, mingling when the moment called, even out-drinking a group of Raiders that could’ve easily snapped her spine over their knees. She was grateful that they hadn’t tried--the last thing she needed right now was to be faced with a bar fight. She wouldn’t lose the fight, hell no, she was better than that, but she didn’t want to be stuck paying for the damaged barstools and wasted liquor.

Her attention snapped back to the hand sliding up her thigh. She was still getting used to being in the world again without her black suit and red tie--her Society’s uniform of sorts--and she’d all but forgotten what it felt like to wear shorts. Fortunately, she hadn’t forgotten what the promise of pain or humiliation felt like. It could be said a thousand different ways, but it always felt the same. The unwarranted hand on her leg was no different.

Instinct was always torn between fight and flight. Her, she normally chose fight. If you run, you’re either forgotten completely or remembered as a coward. If you fight, however, you can scar and maim and mangle and rip them to pieces and still be remembered as a goddamn badass if you get your shit kicked in.

She fixed him with a stare, hoping he’d get the message that he’d meet his maker long before he was called if he kept up the act.

“Purple eyes, huh? _Fuck_ , that’s hot.” Of course he isn’t smart enough to leave me the hell alone. She didn’t want to talk--didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing her speak. Her fingers coiled around the blade in her boot in case he started getting too grabby, but her heart still picked up speed.

_Keep it together. You’re better than he is. You can walk away. The team will come get you._

“Say somethin’, gorgeous. You haven’t said a word all night,” the man purred, his hand sliding up to the hem of her shorts. I could kill him. I could end this right now. No one would notice.

She finally had to say something. “I have a riddle for you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible in normal settings--hearing her in this crowded bar was like hearing a fly’s wings.

“Hit me, hot stuff.”

“A thief, a prodigy, a child soldier, and an ex-cop walk into a bar. The thief, he pockets that watch around your wrist. The prodigy, he occupies your mind for a split second--distracts you. The cop lies in wait for you to slip. What does the soldier do?” Movements start--movement the drunken fool doesn’t notice. She holds his gaze long enough that he doesn’t notice the watch being slipped from his wrist. Glasses break over her shoulder and his gaze flickers up, instinctively looking for the culprit. She grins, snatches his hand from her thigh and twists. He yelps and glowers back at her, cowering at the snarl gripping her face.

“The soldier, she makes sure you pay. Instead of calling her ‘gorgeous’ or ‘hot stuff’, you can just call her _sir_.” She rips him out of the chair and forces him to stand before pushing him face first into the bar, twisting the hand she still held behind his back and effectively pinning his arm between his shoulder blades.

“You shouldn’t have done that, beautiful.” He growled, voice muffled from his place on the wood.

“I thought I told you to call me ‘sir’?” She breathed, pressing down on his forearm. “Also, remember that cop I mentioned in my riddle? Oh, you’re going to hate me for this one.” She laughed, taking a step back and pulling the dudebro up with her. She grabbed his chin and pointed his head in the direction of one of her teammates--presumably the ex-cop.

“You _bitch_. You set me up.”

“ _Sugar_ ,” she drawled, dragging her nails across his cheek, “you set yourself up. Thanks for that, by the way. I was beginning to think my intel was wrong and you’d chickened out on us.” She shrugged, shoving him towards the cop. “Cuff the bastard and get him back to Holding so the Council can deal with his rat’s ass.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you, blue.” The womanizer growled and she barked out a harsh laugh, rolling her neck.

“You think I’m scared of you? What, are you gonna find a way to get free and call on some damn army?” One hand dipped to her hip and she shifted her weight, trying to look as exasperated as she felt.

“Uhm, soldier, you may want to get a gun.” The thief warned her, focused on something behind her. The soldier turned around and swallowed her shock, sizing up the group behind her.

“Well...shit. Master--it’s about to get loud.” She glanced at the cop holding the rat of a man--Master, the closest thing to a leader they had--and pulled her gun.

“God _dammit_ , Mangle!” Master shouted as the gunfire started, flipping a table and ducking behind it--like it could shield him from the fire of assault rifles.

“It wasn’t my fault!” She shouted back, sliding over the bar and rolling into a decent firing position. I’ve got to learn to just--not open my big damn mouth. The prodigy, Mar, darted in behind her and gave her a quick squeeze on the shoulder--letting her know he was there.

“You’re lucky we’re partners, _Mange_. Otherwise I’d let Master take your head off.” He growled over the sound of bullets and breaking glass, pushing a fresh mag into his gun and lining his sights.

“Call me ‘mange’ one more time, and the next bullet from this gun is going straight for your good eye.” Mangle retorted, glaring at her partner over her shoulder.

“Both of my eyes work fine, okay? One is just more advanced than the other.” Mar shot back, narrowly dodging a bullet aimed for said “good eye”.

Admittedly, Mangle liked this. She loved the danger that could accompany intel, relished the moment Master gave her the order to fire. It was in her DNA--she was trained from the day she could crawl to be a soldier. She was born her mother’s angel, and was groomed to be her father’s demon.

She remembered everything about her life before the Society--it hadn’t been long since they’d taken her from him, after all. Ripped her from her father’s clutches. Her father was the reason why she was, in Mar’s terms, a hardass. She’d been used as a pawn for twenty three years. Nothing more than some fancy enhancements. A living fucking weapon. And she’d let them. That was what made her angry. She’d been mangled living up to what her father and everyone around her wanted from her

And honestly? That was what made her fight. What made her battle with every ounce of strength in her body and fight villains armed to the teeth with tooth and nail. Because she wanted so desperately to prove her father wrong. That she wasn’t the “child soldier” she was because of his experiments. That she was part of the Society because she was good--no, better, she was better than everyone she’d been pitted against.

Even if she _was_ the only one to believe it.

 

***

 

She hated the silence of the ride home. She hated the way Master was staring--glaring--at her. She hated how much Mar fidgeted as he adjusted his hold on the wound in his shoulder. Clipped during a short argument with Mangle behind the bar--idiot had stood to run. Rookie mistake. At least M-- “ _Oh shit_.”

Master glanced at her in the rear view and Mar groaned, his head lolling to the side. “What, did you forget your purse?”

Mangle fumed, struggling to keep her anger at this absolute shitbag below the surface. “No, actually. We forgot Marauder.” She smirked, pushing her feet into the seat in front of her when Master slammed on the brakes.

“What do you mean we _forgot_ him? How do you lose a thief?”

“You forget to cherish him.” Mar’s sarcastic remark earned him a poke in his shoulder wound. “Dick,” he muttered, shoving himself deeper into the seat.

“Just turn this goddamn mini-van around so we can go get the poor guy?” Mangle snapped, crossing her arms as she cut their banter short. _They can bitch it out later. We have to get Maddox._

 

***

 

She’d daydreamed on the way to pick up their notorious thief--something she never did. She leaned her seat back and propped her feet and actually dreamed. Granted, a majority of it was nightmare fuel, but she’d relaxed enough to dream. That was the important part--especially as someone who had a hard time with even sleeping, let alone dreaming. She figured that Mar would find this fascinating, if he weren’t such a colossal prick.

Mangle couldn’t truthfully say that she hated Mar--he was her partner. They’d been paired together for a reason...A reason that she couldn’t understand, but a reason nonetheless. Master had stuck them together not long after Mangle had graduated from her societal rehabilitation courses--that had been largely conducted by Mar. For a jerk, he was damn smart.

He’d told her once that he was abrasive because he had to be to survive. He’d been damn near tortured as a kid because of his intelligence, and it had forced him to put up a wall between himself and his emotions. It was either get mean and survive, or crumble and let them kill him. Most days he regretted building those walls inside himself, but they had protected him for so long, it was impossible to think about bringing them down.

Still, it didn’t excuse the fact that he was an ass. An intelligent ass, but still an ass.

Mangle’s relationship with Marauder was...different. Granted, all of her relationships with her team were different--she was less open with him than she was with Alexa and Zalia, more so than with Master--but Marauder had saved her life. He’d gotten her out. He’d spent weeks building up her trust from behind that hotwired chain link so that he could help her escape when his team rolled in and lit the place up. He’d made her feel safe to be outside--sworn to protect her when she couldn’t protect herself. When her resolve crumbled and her heart broke, he would help her walk through the fires of Hell if he had to.

She loved looking back on what she’d lived through because Marauder was there in the end, pulling her to her feet and coaxing her back into the world. Her entire life spent either on a metal table or behind metal walls, and she was suddenly allowed a real life. It was something she’d always be grateful for. He’d helped her build the confidence to be a real person, to have feelings and wishes and hopes for her life. He promised her she wouldn’t ever be behind those walls again--never be rented out to the highest bidder to do whatever they asked, be it killing or--

She stopped her memories then, stopped reliving that. She never wanted to think about what she’d gone through at the hands of her father alone, let alone those of his “clients”. She instead focused on Mar, lost in his own little world. His heterochromatic eyes stayed glued on something none of them could see--the red and blue such stark and embarrassingly beautiful contrasts. He glanced at her. Made a questioning noise. Raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing. I’m just--I’m worried about Marauder.” Mangle answered, flexing her toes and looping her hands behind her neck. Mar scoffed once, moving his hand from the side of his head to under his chin.

“Don’t be. Kid’s damn smart. He’s probably perched in a tree near the bar. He knows we’d come back for him.” Mar brushed off her worry as though it were nothing new--which, it wasn’t. She worried a lot. Constantly losing the people you love does that to a person.

She never understood how Mar always managed to be so calm. Each situation, it was nothing new. Sure, he’d shoot a few quipped remarks in the heat of the moment out of pure fear, but he didn’t ever mean any of what he said. The walls did that.

His whistling dragged her out of her thoughts again--grabbing Master’s attention as well as hers. “D’you see him?” Master asked, slowing the car to a crawl. Mar leaned until he was sitting above the console, pointing to the right side of the road. “How did you even see him, lefty? You were on the opposite side.” Master pointed out and Mar shrugged, the shadow of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Guess I’m just too damn good.”

Sure enough, Mar was right. Marauder sat perched on a bench beneath a rundown bus stop, in all his ragged and lanky glory, shaggy auburn hair plastered to his face with either sweat or blood--knowing him, it was probably both. He glanced up when Master stopped their ride and passed Mangle a close-lipped smile before hopping from his little perch and shouldering his way into the front passenger seat.

“You forgot me. Again.” He mumbled, keeping his eyes fixed ahead. Mangle bit down her urge to reach out to him; to hug his neck and pepper his angular face with kisses until someone pried her away.

In order to save some of her dignity and keep Mar from having any ammunition against her, she rested her chin on the shoulder of his seat, rolling her head to the side a little so she didn’t have to strain her eyes to see him. “Guess who remembered you, though?” She paused, grinning.

Marauder huffed out a laugh and one corner of her mouth turned up. “Who?”

“Not the guy with the supposedly fantastic memory. _Or_ the guy who’s supposed to have our backs.” Mangle’s grin shifted to a smug smile and she rocked a little, waiting on his reply.

“Can I have a hint?” He asked, leaning back so that his elbow rested on the door panel and his hand supported his chin.

“Well...she has big, pretty, purple eyes. That’s a start. And...she’s got fuckin’ awesome hair. _Oh,_  and this is the third time she’s had to remind everyone that they forgot the thief.” Mangle glared at Master with the last sentence and Marauder laughed--really laughed--before reaching up and brushing Mangle’s bangs out of her eyes.

“I think I can take a wild guess.”

“Hit me,” Mangle purred and she heard Mar snort--her returning gesture was twice as rude.

“Would it be Agent Lillian Meyers?” Marauder guessed, groaning as he stretched in the tiny space of the car. Mangle raised her head and smirked again, stifling her giggle in the leather seat.

“ _God_ , will you two just get a damn room already? This lovey-dovey bullshit is making me sick.” Mar complained and Mangle snarled, her rage boiling over as she whirled around--or tried to. Her fingers coiled around her knife and she tried to spin to face him when Marauder stopped her. Grabbed her chin and pulled her back.

“Eyes on me,” he murmured. His way of telling her she was going too far. Tone it down. Mangle growled something in a language only those she grew up with could decipher, but Marauder kept his fingers firmly on the underside of her chin, leaning forward until she couldn’t look at anything but him. “Mangle, eyes on me.” He repeated, more firm than the last time, and Mangle put her knife back, but didn’t push him away.

“Hey, Mar,” she started and Mar grunted, his amusement audible even in the guttural noise, “if you want Marauder and I to get a room so bad, I’ll pay for your room with Malice if you’ll pay for ours.” She sneered and Mar froze, his face twisting into a snarl.

“You don’t know what the _hell_ you’re--”

“ _Enough_.” Master shouted and each of the agents physically reacted. Mangle shrank back in her seat and pulled her knees up to her chin, essentially trying to hide herself. Mar schooled his face back into neutrality and closed his mouth, nonchalantly trying to cover it so that no one would notice his lower lip tremble. Marauder visibly jumped, leaning as far into his door as he could--he was closest to Master and desperately wanted to run, fight or flight instincts kicking in at full force.

Mangle opened her mouth to apologize--another instinct--but Mar grabbed her arm; silently warned her to drop it. She swallowed the apology and buried her head again, the rest of the car falling silent with her.

 

***

 

It was obvious that no one was going to apologize for anything that happened in the car--they were all just too damn proud. Mangle did feel bad for outing Mar’s relationship with Zalia--Malice, their special intelligence expert. However, that didn’t mean Mar had any right to bash Mangle and Marauder’s coping techniques; techniques they’d spent months building up.

Nothing could ever be justified.

She eventually caught up with Mar in the library, spotting him in a corner with his nose buried in some old book written in some old language that wasn’t remembered. “Mar? Can we talk?” She asked, crouching on the floor across from him and crossing her legs to sit when he nodded once, never glancing up.

“What do you need?” He returned, blinking. Turned the full force of those odd eyes on her as he finally looked at her. Mangle sucked in a breath and folded her fingers across her lap, picking at the laces on her sneakers.

“I just--I just wanted to apologize,” she paused, waiting for Mar to egg her on. When he blinked--his way of asking why--she continued, “I just wanted to apologize for outing you and Zalia. That wasn’t my business and I--” she stopped when Mar raised his hand to interject.

“Don’t. I don’t need your apologies, or your _oh-so-precious_ time that you could be spending with Marauder trying to make you at least _act_ human, and I sure as hell don’t need your sympathy.” He snapped, slamming the book closed and shouldering past her. Mangle turned to watch him leave and tried to say something before he raised his hand again, slowly turning around. “And if you _ever_ try to talk to me out of turn again, so help me _God_ I will make sure Master sends you packing back to that rat hole Hannigan dug you out of.” He snarled, forcing Mangle to shrink back, to recoil against the harsh words.

Of course, she didn’t say anything else to him. He was going to remember all of that, just like she would. She could understand why he’d snapped, but in all of the time that they’d worked together, all of the closeness that they’d had, and he’d suddenly threatened to send her back to the place that made her what she is if she even spoke to him.

She watched him storm out. Listened to the genius grumble to himself. Made a mental note to talk to Marauder or Maim about it. He referred to Marauder as “Hannigan”. When is the last time anyone was called by their last name? If anything, he would’ve called him Maddox. Something is definitely up with him, and it isn’t just his---Mangle halted her train of thought there and gripped the sides of her head, growling under her breath. _It’s gonna be a long break until we get another case._

***

 

Alexa Hinder, the special ops agent known as Maim, was pacing the floor of the Society’s makeshift on-site conference room, the heels of her worn cowboy boots dully clicking on the tile floor. The excruciatingly pink dress (that Marauder often claimed gave him a headache) billowed behind her with each step, wrapping around her legs when she paused to look at Mangle. “What can I do you for, sis?” _Perky as ever._

“I need some help with Mar.” Mangle mumbled, pressing down on the spot between her shoulder and her collarbone and rolling her neck. Maim fumbled for a moment, tucking one of her golden locks behind her ear.

“Well, there isn’t really much I can do. He’s your partner, yeah, but he’s with Malice, and I don’t--” Mangle’s eyes widened and she cut her off, holding both hands up and taking a step back.

“Hold up: I didn’t say anything like that. I don’t--I meant dealing with him. Y’know, how his brain works. He snapped at me earlier and said that if I talked to him ‘out of turn’ again, he’d have Master send me back to the Ruins.” She whispered, striding forward again until she was a handsbreadth away from Maim--neither girl wanted their dirty laundry out in the open.

“Besides,” Mangle flicked some stray hair out of her face, “you couldn’t pay me enough to even fake a thing with Mar. I’d sooner walk my ass back to that sperm donor I’m forced to call my father.” Both the girls giggled for a moment before Maim strode to the door and pushed it close, motioning for Mangle to sit in one of the chairs.

Maim eventually dug through a cabinet on the far side of the room and pulled out a file--Mangle guessed it was Mar’s--before sitting down across from her again. She spread some of the papers in the folder out on the table and slid them towards Mangle, encouraging her with a gesture to pick one up. “Mar is a...complex individual. His ‘walls’, as you call them, are a result of trauma. This trauma in turn affected the development of his prefrontal cortex, which makes him a little bit...different. Doesn’t mean he’s bad--it’s just, usually when you see psychopaths, they’re damaged in the same way he is. In the brain, anyways.” Maim explained as she handed Mangle an x-ray, pointing to a section of her partner’s brain.

“So, Mar’s a psycho?” Mangle concluded and Maim sighed, dipping her head.

“N-No, Mangle. Mar is not a psychopath. He could display a few...psychopathic tendencies, but no. Psychologically, he is not a psychopath. His prefrontal cortex developed in the same way a psychopath’s would, but saying Mar is a psychopath would be like saying every child raised in an abusive home is going to hurt the people around them. He is not a psychopath.” She informed the blue-haired soldier, patient as ever.

Mangle glanced at the cabinet over Maim’s shoulder and drummed her fingers on the table, the tapping of her painted nails echoing in the room. “What’s in there?” She asked, pointing to the chest of drawers with a tilt of her head. Maim snuck a look at what she was referring to and shrugged, gathering up Mar’s paperwork and neatly packing it back into the folder.

“It’s nothing, really. Just where I put your files when we moved. The Society is still working out a deal with the Council that will get us closer to our territory, and further from the Ruins. For now, that cupboard has to suffice for my paperwork.” The tone in the neuroscientist’s voice was utterly bored, like the discussion of the Red Tie Society’s future was old news.

Mangle’s curiosity, however, peaked. “We’re moving?” She asked, tilting her head to the side. The prospect of physically getting further and further away from her old life was relieving, like a weight was being lifted from her shoulders.

Maim smiled at her as she packed Mar’s file away and locked the drawer, slipping the key into its normal hiding place when the agents were let out of uniform: her bra strap. “Yeah, Mangle, we’re moving. Maybe. If the Council approves the suggestion. They don’t normally let Societies leave their place of origin, but the closer the effect of the Ruins gets to our base, the harder it will be to keep the territory safe. They have to consider that.” She murmured sadly, slowly lifting the blinds on one of the windows.

“And if they don’t?” Mangle leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms, trying to hide her worry about the question. Please, don’t tell me we’ll stay anyways. I want to get as far from him as possible.

“If they don’t...if they don’t, we may be split up. Some of us will go to the city, the rest will stay here and keep the Raiders from getting any closer to the territory than they are.” Mangle could hear the fear in her teammate’s voice, knew that if any of them were sent to the city, Mangle would be the first to go.

The thought of leaving her new family wasn’t something she wanted to face.

 

 


	2. New Dawn, New Day, New Case

Malice had given her the message of their newest case: murder in the City, Red Ties need to snub the killer before they can strike again. Keep the peace, maintain order. It was all the same deal. Her fuse already short from the fight with Mar the night before, Mangle suspected that today was going to be a rough day.

Crime was becoming much more common in the City than the Society would like. Not just their territory, but in the city itself. Mar and Malice figured it was because the Raiders were closing in. Civilians were getting scared, acting out, and people ended up getting hurt in the process. “The moment we stop doing our job,” Master said, “is the moment our people lose all hope of rebuilding our world.”

Mangle was still adjusting her tie when she made it to the conference room, accidentally bumping into Malice on the way in. “Y’know, generally the wife fixes the _husband’s_ tie.” Malice informed her, setting down her coffee mug and tucking the folder she was carrying under her arm so she could help Mangle with her wardrobe malfunction.

“Yeah, well, I waited for Prince Charming all night and he never showed. Guess I’m stuck with you.” Mangle laughed with a shrug and Malice placed a hand over her heart, leaning back.

“I guess I should say I’m flattered that the mighty Mangle has graced me with her affection, but unfortunately I’m already spoken for, honey.” She grinned, poking Mangle in the chest. “Besides,” she continued as they sat down, “aren’t you and Maddox...y’know…?”

Mangle blinked, trying to convey her shock in a facial expression. “W-What?” She stammered, swallowing her fears. Malice giggled and covered her mouth with her hand.

“Oh my _God_ , Lil. It’s obvious you have a thing for him! Be a girl--quit denyin’ your feelings.” She sneered, winking at Mangle. She, thankfully, leaned back as Mangle leaned forward.

“We. Are not. In a relationship. Okay? Okay. Good. And if you’re makin’ fucking googly eyes at us when he comes in, I’m going to shove one of my stilettoes down your throat.” She swore, trying to seem intimidating even with the smirk playing on her face and crossing her arms as she leaned back in her chair, seemingly satisfied when Malice nodded--the fear-induced frown shifting back into her usual grin as Marauder sat down beside Mangle. _Say something,_  she silently dared, squinting at Malice.

“Wear your scars like armor, and they will never betray you. Wear them like a weight, and they will always seem a burden.” Marauder murmured and Mangle bit back her laugh as she twirled her rolling chair around, trying to pass the time.

“What Shakespeare play did you dig _that_ out of, Marauder?” She asked, using him as a focus point to keep from getting dizzy as the chair kept spinning. Marauder blinked, stiffening his back.

“I started translating some of the Ruinspeak. Or, attempted to. That was one of the pieces I could manage to translate. The rest is still...up in the air.” He shrugged, keeping his eyes focused on the page in front of him. Mangle bit her lip, her brows knitting together.

“Marauder, are you okay?” She asked quietly, waiting to continue until he looked up at her. “I ask because, you _do_ know that I was raised in the Ruins--I’m the best translator you could get. When you found me, that was all I knew. Why wouldn’t you just ask me for help?” She wondered, obviously confused even more when he shrugged again.

“Didn’t want to bother you.” He mumbled and Mangle frowned, starting to say something else when Master walked in.

The commander sat down at the head of the table like he always did after grabbing the case file from Malice. “I doubt you’ve been briefed, so let me st--” He rambled absentmindedly for a moment, speaking on instinct alone, but ground to a halt when he noticed the two empty chairs. “Where are Maim and Mar?” He asked, looking at Malice first--expected an answer. The small woman shrugged, but she wouldn’t drag her sightless eyes to his.

“Haven’t seen them since last night,” she mumbled and Mangle saw Marauder squint out of the corner of her eye--profiling her.

“You’re bluffing.” He stated, crossing his arms and raising his chin.

“No shit?” Mangle snapped and Marauder’s attention turned to her, visibly taken aback by the sudden ferocity. “It doesn’t take a damn _genius_ to see that she’s hiding something. If she doesn’t want to tell us, it’s none of our damn business.” She growled, propping her feet on the empty chair to her left and wiggling her toes-- _hate breaking in new heels. Always a hassle._

“I was just stating the obvious. No need to get bitchy.” Marauder growled and Mangle jerked her feet back, whirling to face him.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Her voice rose an octave and Malice slid down in her seat until only the top of her head was visible.

“We don’t have time for this, you two. Break it up.” Master ordered and Mangle barked out a laugh, her violet eyes still locked on Marauder’s.

“ _Answer me_ , dickhead. Who died and made you king of the castle?” She growled, leaning until she was nose-to-nose with him.

“C’mon, guys, just drop it.” Malice pleaded from under the table and Mangle snarled--warned her to stay out of it.

“I was just reading the situation, Mangle. Pointing out the facts. _You_ were the one who got snippy.” Marauder said, the calculating tone in his voice pushing Mangle even closer to the line.

“That didn’t give you the _goddamn_ _right_ to call me a bitch. W--”

“I didn’t--you misread it. I said you were _acting_ bitch _y_. Not that you _are_ a bitch.” He retorted, leaning back an inch. “Though, now that I think about it, ‘bitch’ describes you pretty well. Today, anyways.” He smirked. Fucking smirked.

Mangle lunged. She lunged and as she did, she pushed her own chair out from under her in favor of pouncing to Marauder’s. Her knees locked at his hips and the force of her bolting pushed them both to the ground, her on top of him. Normally, her hands would’ve wound around his throat, her nails would’ve gouged bloody lines from the nape of his neck up to his chin. She would’ve grabbed his shoulders and dug her thumbs into his collar bone and smashed his entire upper body into the floor. She would’ve-- _she would’ve_ \--

She let go. Stood up. Lifted her chair. Extended a hand to help him up. She couldn’t speak--couldn’t find the words to apologize for attacking him. Her mind drew a blank and she acted on her human instinct alone--the need to recover, to restart, to find some basis of normalcy.

Marauder tentatively reached for her hand, recoiling slightly when her nails grazed his palm. He finally grabbed her wrist and let her haul him to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck and refusing to meet her eyes.

"Are you okay?" Mangle finally found her voice and asked him, the pain on his face undoubtedly mirrored in her own. Marauder swallowed, chewed on the inside of his cheek. Thought about his words carefully.

"Y-Yes. I'm fine. Can we just--just get on with the case briefing? Please?" He stammered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Master cleared his throat. Malice pulled herself back into a decent sitting position. Mangle cowered as Maim and Mar rushed in, hurriedly finding their seats and sitting down. Master cleared his throat again.

"As I'm sure you're all aware, there has been a recent string of murders in the city's limits.” He started, pausing to see if his team had anything to add. Mangle spoke up.

“And, of course, the Council called us in so that the civilians won’t panic since they can’t do anything for themselves, yeah?” She grumbled, picking at her nails. Her guess came out as a question, but no one bothered to answer. They all already knew.

The reason the Societies even existed was so that the civilians wouldn’t have to worry. So that they could live out their lives in blissful ignorance while trying to rebuild the world to what it was before the War. _The War...goddamn war ripped the whole world in half._

Years before any of the team was born--before Master, before even the Council, there was a third World War. A war of pure ignorance, of pride, and of hatred. Before the Societies were brought into the existence, there was another guild of warriors: the assassins. An Order, a Code, and hundreds of well-trained pawns. Many of the assassins drafted for the War hadn’t returned home--and if they had, they’d been discharged for PTSD or some other mental disability from the absolute hell they’d seen after so many years of being trained like dogs with the same people, only to watch them be cut down. A vast majority of them came home to nothing--fire and rubble. The War had taken much from everyone, but had taken all from most.

The Order was disbanded after the War came to an end, the survivors deciding that a no-violence policy being enforced would be a better way to run the world. All of the surviving assassins; all they knew was the Order. Many were raised in a division--brought up under certain ideals, certain ways of living, taught that was how their life would always be. The destruction of the only life they’d ever known was something an unfortunately large amount of them could not, and would not, stand for. Any assassin who’d survived the War, or even the Order itself, was long dead now. Master once said that his great grandfather would roll in his grave if he’d seen what the Society was meant to be compared to what it was--he’d been born and raised in a division called the Phoenix Project.

They--the Societies--were filled with assassins, just as the divisions had been. They weren’t trained by the Society--like that made a difference, but were recruited by the few who still dared to challenge the Council and adopt the Order’s ideals. Mangle’s father had been one of them.

Her father had stolen children from their mothers--snatched them as infants and raised them under his dictatorship. Mangle was the only experiment. His greatest creation, he called her. His secret weapon. The one all of the clients asked for when they wanted the job done and done right the first time. She was barely thirteen when the experiments started--when she was first drugged and strapped to that table. When they firsted started pulling her apart--her body and her mind. When they shoved computer chips into her head and bound an endoskeleton to her bones. When her eyes turned purple and her mind ran like a super computer.

When she stopped being human. When she kept her human body but stopped acting like one. When her feelings vanished. When she stopped praying. Stopped hoping. Stopped wishing for the bright future her mother promised her.

She stopped everything that made her Lillian Meyers. Started being the Mangle.

Started ripping men apart without a second thought. Started forgetting who she was. Let herself fragment. Pulled herself apart and put herself back together again like it was second nature.

Then he found her. _Marauder_. An ex-target. He convinced her to let him live--promised he’d help her find herself again. He came to the fence every day for months--taught her English, taught her to accept touch. Helped her understand that not everyone wanted her dead. That there were people who cared. He was the first person to make her feel human again. After a decade of being a machine--a pawn, she finally felt real. Her emotions came back. She looked forward to seeing him. She let the walls that hid her feelings drop. Let him touch more than just her fingers through the chainlinks that kept her hidden from the world. Let him hold her face, let him study her like a work of goddamn art. Accepted his rare affection. Learned that he was a soft place to fall. Started talking. Stopped the “Ruinspeak slang” her father had always trained her with--the constant growling noises and grunts that served as her communication with the other Raiders. Wanted to be with him all the time--learn everything about him like he did her. She knew she didn’t need Marauder in order to be happy, but her future didn’t look right without him in it. Not where they were now.

Mangle didn’t realize she’d tuned out the entirety of Master’s briefing until she heard the usual “get to work” dismissal. “You all know what you’re supposed to do. Let’s get this solved and come home safe. You are dismissed.” The team stood up to leave, mixed emotions mingling in the room. “Mangle, I need you to stay back for a minute, please.” Master said and Mangle froze, Marauder close on her heels out the door.

“Want me to stay?” He asked, fingers ghosting over hers.

“I’m good.” Mangle murmured and he nodded, resting a hand on her back as he passed her through the door. Mangle swallowed as she sat down again, rubbing her palms across her knees. “What is it?”

Master drummed his fingers on the table, squinting at her. “You rub your knees when you’re anxious.” He stated bluntly, almost accusatory.

Mangle glanced up, her hands stilling. “You trying to profile me, now? I’ve been here for a year and you’re still trying?” She grumbled, leaning forward.

Master sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You zoned out during the briefing. Your eyes were clouded--off in your world. Care to tell me why?” Master’s tone then wasn’t one of accusation--it was worry. The stone-cold leader that had brought them all together was actually _worried_ because his hybrid soldier was thinking about something other than the case.

That’s the only reason. He’s worried because my mind isn’t on the case all the time. What an asshole. “Does it really matter?” She snapped-- _why did I say that? He’s worried about me and I--_

“It does matter, Mangle. Something has been up with you since the bar--”

“You mean yesterday?”  
  
“Lillian. I’m not playing your game. You always have something to say during briefing--be it sarcastic or not, it’s always something we can use. Now, you’ve been off since the bar and I don’t know what’s going on with you, but we need you back. Now please answer me: is anything going on?” Master leaned over the table and Mangle leaned back, staring at the floor.

“I-I don’t understand what you’re asking.” She mumbled, picking at her nails.

“You do know.” He paused to stand up--to stretch. “Mangle, honesty is our best quality. I need to know that my team will be honest with me when it’s needed. Something is up with you, and I need you to tell me what it is so I can help.” Master pleaded, sighing when Mangle kept her eyes glued to the floor. He’d begun to leave her to her own devices when she finally answered him.

“My mind is going. I--I feel like I'm fading out.” She whispered, her voice barely audible. Master paused the the doorway before he turned around again, stepping back through the archway and closing the door behind him.

“What do you mean?” He asked, sitting down in the chair beside her and turning it to face her.

“When I tackled Mad-- _Marauder_...I-I guess I spaced out. I just--I didn’t--it started at the bar. I did the same thing when the fight started. I-I didn’t go in to start a firefight. All I wanted to do was to get in, get the Raider, and get out. But then my big fucking mouth got in the way and I couldn’t think of anything else to do.” She actually whined.

“Slow down, Lily. Why do you think your mind is going?” Master grabbed one of her hands--the hand that was wound in the fiery streaks of blue.

“I’ve--I’ve been having these-these headaches lately. I haven’t been able to focus like I usually do, and I’ve been...dreaming again. The, uhm, the nightmares are back.” She explained, her voice dropping to little more than air.

“Have you talked to anyone about this? Does anyone know?”

“...you do.”

 

***

 

Master told her to talk to Maim about the nightmares--like she’d be able to help. Mangle still felt the ghost of pain in the back of her head--that pain that started in her skull and raked through her bones. She could feel the phantom ties around her wrists, could sense the countless needles pushed into the veins at her elbow and wrists. She shuddered. Scratched at the scars.

She’d always have a problem with mirrors. Couldn’t look at her reflection without wincing, most days. She always stared at the spots on her collarbones where the endoskeleton had pierced her skin when it wrapped around her bones. Covered the mirrors in her house after that.

No one had seen the scars--they’d seen the bits of implanted “bone” at her collar, nothing else. She’d been careful to wrap her knuckles when the skin broke during training, meticulously planned everything she wore out of their normal work attire to keep the scars peppering her back hidden from sight. Never wore her hair up for fear of it being too high and the electricity scars from her neural implants showing--the main reason she kept it cut like she did. So she never had a need to tie it up. Never talked about her life in the Ruins to anyone--not even Mar or Marauder, the two she used to be closest to.

What always struck her was how quick to forgive her team was. When she’d ripped Marauder to the ground, he’d brushed it off and then offered to stay with her after the briefing. Master hadn’t scolded her for the bar fight. Malice hadn’t been angry with her for making Mar upset. Maim had helped her  try to understand why her partner had threatened her. Getting Mar to forgive her...she knew it would be harder than just apologizing.

 

***

 

“When are we leaving for the City?” Mangle asked when she caught up with Marauder again, taking the cup of coffee he passed her. Marauder held up one finger before glancing at his watch, then at the clock above them.

“Three.” He said. Mangle blinked. Squinted.

“Three?” She asked, her nose wrinkling with her lip curling in her confusion. Marauder nodded. “Don’t be so damn cryptic, Maddox. Three what?”

“Three minutes. Are you staying or going?” He asked, swallowing before pouring the last of his coffee down the drain.

“Three minutes? I can’t do _anything_ in three minutes!” Mangle squeaked, quickly downing the last of her--whatever Marauder had given her.

“I can--you need to learn.” He growled, shrugging his blazer back on and adjusting his tie.

“Three minutes? Really? You need to up your game, sweet-cheeks.” Mangle sneered--made a mental note of the shade of pink Marauder’s cheeks turned.

“I--I wasn’t--I didn’t mean--”

“Too late--already fucked it up.”

“Let’s--let’s just go.”


End file.
